No Computer.

I still don't have a computer. It is "in the shop," but might as well be on the moon or nonexistent. There is a Frenchman fixing it (or should I say "fixing" it?) and trying to recover the pictures I took and foolishly saved to my computer instead of leaving on my camera card, which is NEVER full, and does not NEED to be dumped onto my computer all the time.

Hmph. I am not feeling the love today. Maybe because I am trying to eke love out of technology.

Stupid machines. MAKE US DEPEND ON YOU, THEN DESERT US IN OUR HOUR OF NEED. I see how it is.

Anyway, I don't wanna get Carpal Tunnel (is that supposed to be capitalized? Spelled that way?) so I am not posting from my phone. I already have to do ALL THE INTERNET THINGS with it, and my hands are angry.

I hope to see you soon. On my computer. Not my phone.

"I Hate to Tell You This, But..."

Don't you HATE when someone starts out with that phrase?

"I hate to say it, but..."

There are endless iterations of it, too. "I hate to be THAT GUY, but..." "I hate to point this out, but..." "I hate to rain on your parade, but..." "I hate to disagree, but..."

IF YOU HATE IT, THEN DON'T DO IT. THAT SIMPLE. Also, guess what? Everyone else hates it when you do that, too. Not just you! How about we make EVERYONE happy and you just keep that little comment to yourself?

It is NEVER "I hate to say it, but your hair looks absolutely gorgeous today!"
"I hate to be THAT GUY, but I really want to buy you a drink."

These kind of people should just say LOVE instead of hate, and it would all make more sense.

"I LOVE to disagree: YOU ARE WRONG."
I LOVE to rain on parades: YOU WILL FAIL."

It would all be more honest that way. And the patronizing condescension they manage to pack into that "but" makes me want to stab them.

I hate to tell you this, but you're not fooling anyone, BITCHES.

My whole point, though, was that I hate to tell you this, but my computer is still on the fritz. (TAKE A NOTE, THIS IS THE CORRECT USAGE OF "I HATE TO TELL YOU THIS." I actually DO hate saying this, because it is TRUE AND AWFUL.)

Not only that, but my phone is about to take its last dying gasp, too. Why are phones that cost $600 only good for an average of 1.5 years? JUST long enough to crap out before your contract is up? I think we all know the answer to that little rhetorical question. Anyway, so my phone sucks and freezes up a bajillionty times if I try to access the internet. It is a smart phone grown dumb. Maybe it has Alzheimer's, and is reckoning back to the Golden Age of the Telephone, when all it did was make calls.

Regardless. I thank you all for sticking with me through thick and thin over here. And, as always, I PROMISE I WILL MAKE IT UP TO YOU!!*

*probability of fulfillment: 1 in 10000000000000000

Pathétique

How can I think of a new blog post when I can't even think of a new Facebook status?

Autocorrect, DIAFGFA.

Since I am sans computer for the last few and the next few days, or at least until HP ships me my recovery disks, because God forbid they actually include them with the purchase of my laptop, I have been using my phone to keep from falling back into the pre-information age, or the preformed age, as I am wont to call it just now. Also, I have picked up an affinity for run-ons and a dangerous carelessness with verb tense and mood.

My point being, and do you know I hate it when people use that construction? Usually because they often follow it up with the word "is", and nothing bothers me more than a repeated being verb with the possible exception of never knowing on which side of the quotations punctuation should fall.

Anyway, my point is, is that I have been using my phone for ALL THE THINGS. And you know what this experience has taught me, even more than "Don't leave your computer laying around where the kid can manhandle it and delete important system files?"?

It has taught me that I hate autocorrect. HATE. ABHOR. WISH DEATH UPON. DESIRE THE DEMISE OF. It is basically the absolute worst thing, ever. I hate its smug attitude. Its predisposition to replace sense with nonsense. Its maniacal bent toward making me appear illiterate and undereducated. When I type "She lets us go over there if it's nice," I do not want autocorrect to hijack me and instead say, "Should let's go overall there's if its Nick." Not only does this not make sense, it also creates the necessity of deciding between deleting ALL THE THINGS or trying to wade through the whole morass, one errant screen swipe at a time, editing and deleting, because most of the letters are already there, and let's be honest, if you delete and fix it you'll be back at square one with "Show letter use to overnight The if itself Nicole."

Also? Using a phone increases my paranoia that I will lose any note of length by about a bajillionty fold. You know why? Becquerel (What the ever living fuck? I mean, for real. Under no circumstances is that a word.)-- BECAUSE, my phone just shuts down the web browser at indeterminate junctures, losing all information and sending my teeth into fits of gnashing and my robes into fits of rending.

So I'd better sign off, but not before telling autocorrect that I hope it Dies in a Freak Gasoline Fight Accident.

Shit Outta Luck

The kid broke my computer. He deleted some sort of essential file, so it won't even open.

So until I get the recovery disks and spend some time running installations, WE ARE S.O.L., LADIES AND GENTS. S.O.L.

Also, all of my pictures are GONE.

Posted from my POS Android

A Flood of Happiness. OR SOMETHING ELSE.

Sorry there wasn't anything here yesterday, and I kind of dropped the ball on proclaiming a winner of the Name That Tune (CONGRATS ANDY!)-- but I HAD A FUCKER OF A DAY, ladies and gents. A fucker of a day.

First, all heck broke loose at work. Then, I overdid my exercise and could barely move. THEN I got into a... well, hubby and I don't really fight, or argue, but we have disagreements. Which, I think, is harder to deal with than screaming. So we had a disagreement and I ended up walking home in the rain. And THEN, instead of being Mopey McMoperson I decided to clean out my entire closet. And mop the floors. And clean the bathrooms. And pick up the kid's room, which is when I noticed that the carpet in his room (located in the basement) was wet.

Yep. Flooded.

THANK YOU, UNIVERSE, FOR SHITTING ON MY HEART.

So I had to rip up the carpet and pad, try to wring out as much water as I could, and set the fans in there. I think we have to get a new pad, but we can save the carpet. Unfortunately, though, the water is still seeping up from the concrete and in through the walls-- and it's supposed to rain again today.

Accidentally taken while trying to call the landscape company this morning

All this because we had the gutters replaced SO THE BASEMENT WOULDN'T FLOOD, and they didn't finish them yesterday so we didn't call the landscape company to dig out the drainage plumbing since they WEREN'T EVEN FUCKING DONE YET.

DAMN IT. So now we have $1700 for new gutters, $1000 for the plumbed pipes, and $300 for a new pad downstairs ANYWAY, even though we spent $2700 to AVOID THAT FUCKING THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. Well, and the undermining of the foundation of our house and black mold. BUT STILL.

Yesterday can go FUCK ITSELF WITH A RUSTY SNOW SHOVEL, which is the only implement I had to dig the pipe area up yesterday in a vain attempt to divert the water further from the house.

Today, you are preemptively ON NOTICE.

Hermit Crab

So, I am not sure if any of you have ever dealt with... well, I will call it "self-help shit" for lack of a better term. You know what I'm talking about-- dealing with demons, facing fears, cleaning closets. That kind of shit.

But if you have.

MOTHERFUCKING WHAT. I mean, how do you deal with it? It is exhausting and draining and... well, more than anything for me, apparently, it is enraging. I mean, I'm doing the baby stepping. I'm not a slacker!

But to me, all of this sifting through feelings and emotions and wading through personal history and... shit... is shit. I get so effing ANGRY every time I try to step forward. Even though I know that what is best for me is dealing with this shit so I don't have to feel broken and fucked up and shitty (I know, I know, I'm not, but that is how I feel, regardless, and anything you say is not going to change that, only going through this process will, and LOOK HOW GOOD my brain knows these things, WHY can my... rest of me... not catch up!!).

Anyway. That is why I have not been around as much. Because I am trying to deal, and I'm not talking about cards. I'm trying to chill, and I'm not talking about A/C. I'm trying to be a rock, and I'm not talking about AC/DC. HAHAHAHA see what I did there?

OK. So I'm still me. But... yeah. It is not the most fun I've ever had in my life.

If Today Had a Theme

AAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuughaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Modern Family and McDonalds

1. Modern Family is one of the best shows I have seen in recent history. It is hilarious, all of the people are beautiful (especially Sophia Vergara, who is worth watching any amount of any show for a mere glimpse).

I told you. I KNOW!!!! SHE IS SO GORGEOUS.

And let's be honest, we watch television to forget our own problems, to laugh at those of others, and to ogle beautiful people. What makes this one rise above, though, is its ability to renew your faith in human nature. The way that it makes your heart glow with love. It is a family that is neurotic, hot-tempered, at-odds, and under siege, that still makes it all come together in the end because they love each other. A modern-day fairytale.

2. McDonalds
WHY IS THE FOOD SO CHEAP WHEN IT IS SO FUCKING BAD FOR YOU. WHY, I ASK YOU. Also, there is a Chicken McNugget shaped like America. That was not a mistake. The mere SMELL of the Happy Meal wafting to my nose from the back seat of the car makes me want to jump ship and just wallow in fries and nuggets and paper-thin burgers until I can't wallow anymore because my chins are impeding the movement of my belly rolls.

In My Opinion

Preface: If you do not understand that Rachael was being sarcastic, you do not know her well enough, and need to get more of her in your life.

Rachael left me a comment the other day that I was going to address in a rant against relativism in artistic meaning, but I got sidetracked and instead went on a rant against value judgments in general. So... I will come back to a rant about art later. But for right now,

I HATE BLANKET RELATIVISM IN VALUE JUDGMENTS.

You know what? Some things ARE BETTER THAN OTHERS.

This is one of the things that pisses me off to no end. People thinking that their uninformed opinion of something should be taken into account just because there is some sort of wussy "all opinions should be treated equally" mantra floating around out there. ALL OPINIONS CANNOT BE RIGHT, because then A would be both A and NOT A at the SAME TIME, IN THE SAME RESPECT. And that is IMPOSSIBLE.

And who is the judge of this, you say? Because doesn't it end up being put in their hands, the fate of art and taste and all things? YES IT DOES. And I AM THE JUDGE, BITCHES. Actually, I should qualify that by saying I am totally not the judge on most things. I will defer to those more knowledgeable than myself, in most instances. But I can be the judge in areas in which I have been educated. Because I believe that my opinion regarding literature is more informed than most people's opinions, for example. If some illiterate eighth-grader said that Hamlet was a misogynist play that made no sense, I would tell you that he is WRONG. He is not just interpreting the play as it can be interpreted because there are many interpretations and aren't they all right? NO.

And I'm not saying that you have to know Shakespeare's life story, or have read ALL THE PLAYS, or have an earth-shaking love of poetry or theater to love him OR to realize that he IS, unqualifiedly,* a genius. But I am saying that the worth of your opinion depends on your familiarity with the subject on which you are opining.

You are entitled to your opinion in the same way that I am entitled to tell you where to shove your opinion. Freedom of speech does not necessarily entail equality of opinion. You don't go to me to place your horse racing bets, because I do not know a fetlock from a forelock. You go to the stable hands and jockeys and backroom odds-makers, because their opinions are MORE VALID. You don't go to Rachael to tell you how to solve your sinus problems, you go to a DOCTOR, because his opinion is MORE VALID.

And now I am running out of steam because I got sidetracked reading up on fetlocks and sinus problems. Dammit. Let's just have a beer and look at this beautiful picture.

Degas' Ballet Rehearsal. Definitively Beautiful. 

 *Unqualifiedly is so a word. Fuck You, Spellcheck. My opinion is more valid than yours 99.9% of the time.

Fourth of July

At the Rodeo

They both got licorice ropes as long as Charlie is tall

Can you spot the buckin' bronco?

Yeeeeeehaw!

Charlie at the parade today

At the kid's carnival after the parade. Charlie looks closer to the water action than he was.

See? That is him, WAY over on the right edge. He didn't want to get wet.

We've gone to the rodeo and the parade and a kid's carnival so far. We live on the bike race route, so there are bikers going by the house at crazy speeds, an announcer about a block away, and live bands playing at four separate places within three blocks of our house. This, combined with the fact that we live one block off the parade route, means that our house is parked in.

Also, strangers parked in our parking spots in front of our house, and also in our driveway, right in front of our garage doors. WHO DOES THAT. I want to call and have their cars towed, because it is MY fucking driveway, but I guess I'll give them 'til tonight to get their asses off of my property. I don't know what it is about strangers using your yard and driveway for parking, but it is one of those things that tips me from "normal human being" to "raging beast" within seconds.

I keep telling myself, "Self, it is a holiday, let the people have fun." But then I think, "Even if I were parking in some strange town, I would have the common decency and courtesy not to park in someone else's DRIVEWAY FOR GOD'S SAKE."

Hmph. Maybe I need a nap before the fireworks start. Literally and figuratively.

Catty Bitch

Gratutitous Cat Shot

Sometimes, I am such a catty fucking bitch.* I get into one of these moods, and it is like the evil stepsister in me rears its ugly head and devours villages. I just can't help myself. Snide comments and rude insults present themselves to me. I don't even have to think of them, they just pour out of my brain.

And when I get in one of these moods, I try not to say all the things that I want to say. I try to keep them in, because in reality, I am not a cruel witch. But the things are in my head regardless, all of those pointed comments, like a prickly cactus garden.

I think it usually stems from one tragic flaw in myself and one major fault in others: my impatience and others' manipulative behavior. I really, really, really hate manipulative people. My mom is the Queen of Manipulation, and having suffered under her regime for years, I bristle when I stumble upon controlling people in the wild world.

And I have almost zero patience for those who use manipulation to get their way. I know that I should be gracious to them, that they probably have a host of personal and psychological problems that have created this monster manipulator, but I just can't do it. It pisses me off that they think I'm so stupid I won't see through their attempts to control my mind. I mean, at least if you're going to try to assert your will over my own, do it in such a way that I feel like I'm doing it for my own sake, not because of your cheap attempts at manipulation.

HMPH. Anyway, I am just holding my tongue over here.

*Isn't the phrase "catty bitch" kind of oxymoronic?

The Few, The Proud

Overeager and underprepared
Too excited to experience
All the things!
Even though all includes some
Like distaste, disaffection, and disgust.
And I am the object, never the actor.
It must be that
eagerness and zeal
that bright-eyed optimism
Is reserved for those
Who can defend their rights to it.

It's not for everyone.

Oh, Bother

I am often intolerant of slowness, stupidity, and quiet-talking. I can pair my annoyance with mercy more often than not-- but sometimes, I just can't take it anymore. I mean, I never really say anything rude. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. But I bitch internally about it, which is probably almost as bad.

When I read Emma, I feel a lot of pity on the heroine when she finally snaps at Miss Bates. God help me, I have been there so many times, and have only just managed to stay on this side of letting them know what I think.

My impatience is bother to me.

Oh-So-E-Mo

I AM SO EMO THAT I MAKE SLUGS LOOK LIKE RAVERS.
I AM SO EMO THAT THE KID WORKING AT HOT TOPIC LOOKS CHEERFUL NEXT TO ME.
I AM SO EMO THAT m.a.c. IS NAMING AN EYELINER AFTER ME: BLACK DEATH.

The darkness of my soul makes hell look like heaven. I have been through more than you will ever understand. And I won't let you understand, because my telling you that I'm authentic and scarred adds to my mystique. Don't try to get me unless you've "been where I've been." There is no healing or love-- there is only the pain of this realization. Usually, a pat on the back is just someone checking to see where to put the blade. And my only outlets are my knife, my journal, and the scrap of my dry soul that feeds on bitterness.*


Basically, my band is the only one that understands me.

*Also sarcasm. Lots and lots of sarcasm.

Manipulation

When manipulative people start pissing me off, I just remember that the word "manipulative" harkens back to the Latin idea of "handful," and a handful is really not that much.

I mean, unless you're talking about boobs, and then it is just right, no waste.

But a handful is not enough ice cream, not enough sand for a sandbox, not enough beer or soda or lotion or blanket or sandwich. It is just a little tiny bit.

I can handle a little tiny bit of a manipulative person just fine.

By stepping on them with my big feet and squishing them dead.

Irritable

How can I convey to you
The way you make me feel
Without being condescending
or caustically rude?

You are a cut on the corner of my mouth
That doesn't heal until I'm silent
For days on end

You're rough sandpaper,
Rubbing repeatedly
On my dry knuckles

A tiny rock
In my shoe

A mosquito
In my bedroom

A noise
At night

You are all of these things
And so much more
So much, much more

An unfinished line